The Myers Affair
by Msynergy
Summary: I first met Edgar Myers during my university years, and it was this association that nearly cost me my life some years later.
1. A Reunion

_The Myers Affair_

I first met Edgar Myers during my university years, and it was this association that nearly cost me my life some years later.

I'd spent the morning before that fateful reunion running the plethora of errands I'd been putting off in assisting Holmes with his cases. The only reason I had had time to do so then being that he'd just solved his latest case, and was waiting for another mystery to find its way to our quarters and his amazing brain.

By the time I'd returned to our rooms at Baker Street, however, the storm that had been sporadically spitting all day finally let loose its fullest force, raindrops plummeting to the earth with enough rapidity and force to pelt any poor soul caught in its wake.

If I were as florid a writer as Holmes insistently states I am I suppose I should have taken this harsh change in weather as a warning of things to come, but I never thought anything of the sort as I made the wet dash to the front door of 221b from my cab, not even bothering to try and open my umbrella.

Managing to shed my wet coat, hat, and gloves in record time considering my old wounds and the fact that I was sure my very bones were shivering despite having managed to catch a cab, I was quickly shuffled up the stairs with words of concerned admonishment and the promise of hot tea by Mrs. Hudson.

Not bothering to ask if Holmes was in, as he'd been intently tinkering at his chemistry table when I'd left him, I made my way as hastily as I could up those seventeen steps in pursuit of a warm fire.

The ungodly mess that greeted my tired eyes upon reaching our sitting room, however, made me realize that something must have come up while I was away.

Wading my way through the small sea of paper I seized the documents that had taken up residence on my chair, setting them down next to their mates on the floor. Plopping down hard in my chair, I reveled in not having to move for a spell by a cheery fire, so sore had I become in such weather.

But just as I felt myself drifting towards the sweet oblivion of sleep there came such a racket from downstairs that for a moment I thought the Baker Street Irregulars had decided to make an appearance.

Crankily moving from my chair I was ready to have some strong words with the boys too when the door swung open to reveal Mrs. Hudson arguing with a man roughly my own age, dressed in a bedraggled and well-worn suit.

"I keep telling you sir! Dr. Watson has just come back from a long day out in this horrid weather and I will not let him be disturbed without proper cause!" She continued to berate this visitor, mumbling apologies at me but still shooting daggers at the man in question when I managed to interject and relieve her of guard duty.

"Now," I sighed, too tired to care about why the man had been so insistent to see me and not Holmes, "what can I do for you, Mr.-"

"Oh come now, John, surely you remember me?" the stranger inquired, taking off his soaked bowler as he'd obviously not been able to do so in his haste.

The use of my Christian name startled me from the drowsy and irritated stupor I'd been in long enough to fully examine the man before me.

As I said before he was about my age, though of a slighter build and height than I. On his head sat carefully slicked back, if not slightly mussed at the time, brown hair. His nose and eyes seemed too large for his clean-shaven face, giving him the appearance of a frightened rabbit. Those big black eyes stared back at me in hope of recognition, but it was the nervous smile upon his thin lips that finally jarred my memory.

"Edgar?"

**Author's Note:** Well, here's the first chapter to what I plan on being a much longer story, hopefully you liked it enough to want to keep reading, yes? No? Let me know!


	2. A Plea and a Question

_A Plea and a Question_

You can imagine my incredulity at that moment. I had not seen nor heard from Edgar Myers since my time at the University of London, and yet there he was, not looking like a day had past since I last saw him, except for some greying patches hair about his temples and a few wrinkles about his eyes and mouth.

"By Jove! It really is you isn't it? How have you been? Please, do sit down and tell me what brings you here after all this time!" I finally exclaimed after recovering from my shock to happily grip his hand in welcome, my old friend letting out a high-pitched laugh that I remembered so well.

But just after this laughter he had let out this sound of joy his features instantly settled into a more serious and slightly frantic expression.

"No, I'm afraid I can't John. I only came here because you're the only person that I could think of in London who can help me."

"Whatever about?"

Edgar swallowed hard, and despite the years since our last meeting I knew instantly what matter he'd come here for.

"How bad, Ed?" I sighed, crossing my arms and pinching the bridge of my nose in exasperation.

His eyes downcast, he swallowed again, a finger nervously playing with his collar.

"Ten-thousand pounds," he finally admitted, in turn taking the air from my lungs.

"Edgar! How on earth could you have-"

"I know! I know! Don't you think I don't! And I wouldn't come to you if it weren't for the fact that I've nothing left to sell! Every penny I've ever owned or inherited has already gone towards paying it and still it haunts me! I'm sorry John, but I am positively at the end of my rope!"

By this point he'd gotten himself so worked up that I forced him to sit down in my chair, any anger I'd felt at him immediately gone at the poor sight he made. His nerves had obviously been shot by the strain of trying to pay off this debt.

Pouring him a glass of brandy in hopes of calming him some, I patted him gently on the shoulder as I push more papers aside so I could sit in front of him. The idea occurred to me that the room really was a complete mess, which told to the pressure on Edgar as he had been meticulously neat in school and took particular notice when others weren't.

"Now, Edgar, I want you to know that I still consider you a friend, which is why I will hear you out, despite the distaste I feel towards certain events in the past. To whom do you owe this money?"

"A man by the name of Harrison, Giles Harrison, he owns the ratting house. One of his gorillas did this as a warning of what will happen only more so if I don't pay up by the end of this week," He explained, moving his left hand up to eye-level and causing me to curse in sympathy and leap to my feet.

I blame my shock at seeing my old friend for not noticing before, but even the most slight of glances would have observed that all of the man's fingers were swollen and bruised.

Quickly gathering my doctor's bag, I immediately went about setting Edgar's fingers, finding much to my horror that he'd already set them back into place no doubt by himself. Scolding him as I splinted the abused appendages, I soon learned more of his story as I did so.

"I managed to graduate as you know despite my gambling hobby, and was able to open a practice with the inheritance left by my father not shortly after you joined the service."

I nodded, vaguely remembering my receiving a letter from him that addressed what he spoke of, but also remembered tearing the thing to shreds not shortly after skimming the first few sentences. My temper in my youth had been like a hair-trigger revolver so easy was it to set off, and while I had been justified in my rage towards the man now sitting before me the older and wiser man I'd become recognized the futility of the emotion.

"Well, I managed to keep myself afloat all these years despite my bad habits but recently I've been having a round of very bad luck and found myself in a hole I could not dig myself out of. Which is why I'm in such a state of affairs with that blackguard Harrison."

Finishing up the wrapping of his fingers to keep them immobile as he ended his tale, I sighed, fortifying myself for the task ahead of me.

"I can't help you Edgar."

"What?!"

"I can't help you, unless you make the decision to put all of this behind you. I refuse to help pay you out blindly like I did before. Trust is not easily won again after it's lost and though I've forgiven you for the past I know better than to take you at your word. If you value your life as well as our friendship you must agree to give up gambling for good in exchange for my help."

Edgar knew me well enough to see the determination in my eyes, the set of my jaw and with it the knowledge that I would not be dissuaded from my decision. It was all, or nothing.

Finally, just as I was sure he was about to get up and walk out, his shoulders slumped in resignation.

"Alright John, alright."

"Splendid. Now, the bank is closed for today but call here tomorrow in the morning and we will go from there."

"Thank you, John. Really, thank you."

I smiled; the gratitude in his voice was palatable.

But just as I went to see him out, what should have been my first great sign of warning appeared.

"Oh, John?"

"Yes?"

"Please don't tell your friend Sherlock Holmes about any of this will you?"

I frowned, curious as to why he'd make such a request but not seeing it beyond reason I agreed.

And what a mistake that was.


	3. A Suspicion

_A Suspicion _

As it turned out, Holmes returned not soon after Edgar departed in the guise of a blackguard whose face was so rife with malice and contempt I initially thought myself in the company of one of Edgar's "friends."

Needless to say I was startled at the first glance I caught of this ruffian making his way causal into the sitting room, but a second glance told me that the man was indeed Holmes as he started to violently curse himself a blue streak, ripping the filthy hat he wore off and running a dirty hand through greasy hair on the way to his bedroom.

"No luck I take it?" I asked cordially from the table, my dinner long forgotten in the face of my friend's antics.

"None whatsoever! I- Watson? When did you return?"

I smiled, managing to just barely hide my mirth at my friend's singular unawareness of the world outside anything pertaining to a case that was normally of some magnitude.

"I returned late this afternoon," I continued to smile.

"Ah, my apologies then. This latest case of mine has me completely at odds with all other things in this world at the moment. The man I was busy hunting is no amateur and I daresay it will be no easy feat for even me to ensnare him if today's events were any indication!"

He continued to vent his frustration as he quickly turned to divest himself of his rough impersonation, returning in what felt not a blink of an eye later in his usual evening attire and throwing himself into his chair in a huff.

"It can't be as bad as all that, can it?" I asked curiously, moving to take my chair beside his, as I'd not seen my friend in such a fit in some time. The many cases that he'd been offered since his return had kept him quite busy and satisfied, and while there'd been a share of problems that even he himself had thought complex, I had not seen him so vexed by a case since Moriarty.

I still shudder to think of the villain's name, and did so just then, but my friend's attentions were obviously elsewhere as he divulged the case so far.

Apparently he'd been put on the trail of a string of murders that so far had left Scotland Yard, and more importantly Lestrade, baffled.

The only connection between them being that all the victims had been set to testify against a rather shady character whom supposedly ran one of the largest ratting houses in London and made certain if any of his customers bit off more than they could chew that they were "dealt with." This was why the victims had been convinced to testify against him in the first place, as many of those that he had already had "dealings" with had been good friends.

It was when I asked the name of the man, however, that the alarm bells first truly started to go off in my mind.

"Giles Harrison, I believe the devil's name was," Holmes waved a hand angrily, rising from his seat to grab his oldest pipe and some shag tobacco from the slipper. Despite his frustration, however, it was much to my misfortune that he noticed immediately when I tensed in my seat.

"Watson? Do you know of him?"

My mind raced, my promise to Edgar warring with my loyalty to Holmes. I'd promised not to say anything, and a gentleman always keeps his word. But Holmes was my best of friends, and far be it from me to keep any pertinent information from him about a case. And what of Edgar? The idea that this Harrison would kill to stay in business was not far fetched by the look of Edgar's fingers earlier today. Even more harm could come to him if I exposed him as a fellow in debt to Harrison. Holmes would insist upon my encouraging Edgar to talk with him about possibly capturing the man in the act and testifying against him afterwards. The last thing that Edgar needed was to be thrown back into the snake pit that he was willing to try and crawl out of. This was probably the very reason Edgar had asked me not to tell Holmes.

"Watson? Are you alright, my dear fellow?" Holmes asked for what must have been the nth time as his grey eyes shone with unspoken concern.

"Um, yes! Quite alright! I was just reflecting on how awful a fellow this Harrison chap must be is all."

"Indeed," Holmes nodded, though while his face was blank his eyes told of the machine that was his mind grinding away at its current problem. I had no doubt either, that my unusual reaction to Harrison's name played a part, which made my night a restless one and caused me to get up extremely early the following morning.


	4. A Small Surprise

_A Small Surprise_

The only advantage to rising so early in my mind being that I would be able to intercept Edgar without the worry of Holmes' too sharp eyes observing something he shouldn't. My worries, however, were short lived as a quick survey of both his room and the sitting room told me he was no where to be found.

My jacket on, gloves and hat at the ready, all the same, I lay in wait at the bottom of the stairs, scaring poor Mrs. Hudson half-to-death when she happened to pass by on her morning rounds. Scolding me quietly after getting over her fright, however, she soon returned with several pieces of toast and marmalade.

"Can't have you going out without something to eat," she chided, making sure I started to eat before leaving me be. The fact that she didn't ask just what I was doing at such an early hour on the bottom stair fully prepared to go outside spoke of the woman's amazing ability when it came to tact. That could be the only reason in my mind why she did not throw Holmes or myself out on our ears so long ago.

The time passed by unbearably slow but finally a familiar shadow of a figure appeared at the door and I rose quickly to intercept his knock. The sooner this matter was taken care of the better in my opinion, already the situation had put me in a rather uncomfortable position and the sooner I was done with it the better.

Of course Edgar had been curious as to why I'd been so quick to meet him at the door, but the mention of paying off his debt quickly silenced him as I hailed a cab to take us to my bank.

It is well known to readers that, without realizing it at the time, I'd sold my practice to one of Holmes' distant relatives. The money from that transaction having been my been my bread and butter since that time, despite the anger I felt towards Holmes when first finding out.

What many may not know who have not deduced it for themselves, however, is that over the years Holmes himself had become a very wealthy man. So while his rates had stayed the same as ever, many a thankful royal family or noble had been more than generous despite them. That being said, I soon discovered not long after Holmes had requested I not publish anymore of his cases, that after every case we solved together a steady and generous sum was being deposited into my account without my knowledge.

Needless to say I was I little perturbed upon first finding out, wondering at first why someone capable of accessing my bank account would put money in and not take it out. It did not take Holmes' great deductive skills, however, to find the culprit.

Upon confronting him, however, it was to my great amazement that Holmes first shyly asked if the amount was enough upon being accused.

I made it clear that I did not desire any more of his money at all, but his defense silenced any further protest I had.

"It is the least I can do for you, my dear Watson. You solve the cases we work just as much as I do by helping me. Facts are when you were managing your own practice you lost much income on my account when I needed you for one of my pretty problems. The least I can do is pay you back for those times. The fact that now you have no practice and I forbade you from publishing more accounts of our cases also leads me to the conclusion that my occupation has become our occupation, and so it seems only fair that you earn a decent share of the profits."

I never asked how Holmes had managed to do what he did, but I never questioned it either after that.

Instead, I left the money I knew to be my share from him untouched, collecting interest and growing.

This money, as well as quite a bit of my own savings, were what I withdrew from my account that day to help Edgar.

I daresay my poor friend's eyes nearly popped out of his skull at the sight of such a sum, and followed me obediently like a puppy out the door and into the waiting cab.

"Where to?" I asked once we were inside.

The address was in Whitechapel, needless to say no cabbie in their right minds would want to stop there without proper compensation so I told the man a street a few blocks away for the sake of finance and comfort.

Several filthy alleys later in the seediest parts of London, we came to the back of a large building, a strong wood door barring the entrance.

Banging on the door hard once, the stress Edgar had been trying to hide all morning was beginning to show. His dirty collar was stained with sweat and his eyes looked in every direction but the door.

When the door finally opened, he flinched as if struck, though I couldn't blame him upon catching the sight of the man behind it.

"H-hallo Cal, is Mr. Harrison in by chance?" Edgar seemed to squirm in his own skin, and by that reaction I highly suspected that the blackguard before us had been the one who had broken Edgar's fingers. Fighting off scum like him, after all, was how I'd first met Edgar, and though time may change a person, some mannerisms were too ingrained to ever be rid off.

"You got the money?" came the rough, harsh question back, the voice itself surprising educated considering its owner.

"Yes, my friend here was willing to help me. Let us in and I'll pay Mr. Harrison right quick!"

"Fine," the brute grunted, opening the door wide enough for the two of us to enter.

Walking into the dark abyss beyond, however, it took my eyes a second to adjust to the damp gloom of the large room, there being only one lamp lit in a far corner where a scarred man sat behind a table surrounded by equally sinister looking fellows.

It was one of these fellows, however, that caught my eye and the breath from my chest.

It was Holmes.

**Author's Note:** Dun dun dun! As you can tell I agree with KCS about Holmes being a rich man, I just took it a step further in order to explain how Watson could have come by such a large sum of money. Hope it made sense! Oh, and please do review!


	5. A Meeting with Mr Harrison

_A Meeting with Mr. Harrison_

I am not sure who was more surprised, Holmes or myself, but both of us covered it quickly as Edgar and I approached the table.

I did not miss, however, the frustrated outrage that flashed across his face before going back to the conceited scowl that had been on his face previously.

"Mr. Myers, what a pleasure to be seeing you again so soon," a voice of velvet from the scarred man echoed about the empty room.

By his completely at ease expression and the cold blue eyes that didn't come close to matching the welcoming tone of his voice, I knew that this had to be Mr. Giles Harrison.

The scars on his face I could see now even in the dim light were those of pockmarks, making the confident demeanor with which he presented himself even more unsettling. His dress was immaculate, almost to the point of foppishness, making him stand out quite significantly against the harsh backdrop of the room and the men surrounding him.

"Yes, sir Mr. Harrison," Edgar nodded eagerly; motioning for me to put the case I'd placed the money in on the table.

Doing so and stepping back in respect, I kept my eye on Holmes more than Harrison as the man inspected the case's contents.

One would never have known it without knowing what to look for, but Holmes was furious. My own temper had been riled at that point as well, however, after recovering from the shock of seeing him there.

How dare he not tell me what he had been up to! The very least he could have done was make me aware of the situation instead of withholding everything from me! I may not have been of any use to him in this case, but it was the principle of the thing that hurt most.

"This is not adequate."

These four simple words quickly derailed my angry train of thought, as I looked to Harrison with Edgar in equal disbelief.

"What?" Edgar was the first to squeak, "But Mr. Harrison! That is the exact amount I owe you!"

"That was before you waited so long before paying it. You well know that I charge interest on debts that are not paid before they're due. You should have let your friend here know that. Dr. Watson, isn't it?"

The man said this in such a calm and simple manner I could hardly believe my own ears, but then any anger I'd felt before was instantly turned on Edgar.

"You knew this and did not tell me?! Edgar, how could you?!"

"I knew nothing about this interest he speaks of! I was told to pay what I asked you for and nothing more! John, you must believe me!" Edgar pleaded, that frightened rabbit expression of his becoming even more apparent with real fear.

"Thank you Mr. Myers, you have been most helpful," that velvety voice suddenly interrupted, and the fury I felt became an inferno as I felt two pairs of large hands wrap around my arms like vises.

"Edgar! How could you?! How the blazes could you?!" I yelled, fighting to be free of my captors, just then realizing that Harrison had mentioned my name.

A trap, this whole thing had been a trap. But for whom? Holmes? If they knew he was on to them, and even in the same room, why had they not seized him instead? Why bother to set such an elaborate trap for me if they could have easily caught who they were really after?

"Please Mr. Harrison! Why are you doing this? I was going to pay you back fair and square!" Edgar wailed, surprisingly fighting against his own captors. So angry had I been I'd not even noticed he had been restrained as well.

"You are even more a fool than I first thought you to be if you do not understand why, Mr. Myers. Take them away if you please Gentlemen, we have much to prepare for tonight, too much to deal with these two at the moment."

Futilely trying to wrench myself free as I was dragged away by the men who'd kept their hold me, the chilling direness of our situation clashed with my fury as something hard connected with the back of my head and darkness overcame me.

**Author's Note:** I know, I'm evil for leaving it there with so short a chapter, but the next will be much longer I promise! Thank you to everyone who's reviewed so far too, I really appreciate it. If you could review this chapter too that'd make you all even more amazing! Thanks again!


	6. An Argument and a Rescue

_An Argument and a Rescue_

**3/13 Edit Note:** My apologies if those of you that have story alerted this story get a new chapter message again. I was just fixing a typo that was pointed out by a kind reviewer. Thanks! _  
_

"Watson… Watson. Come now, wake up old fellow. Watson!"

The voice I remember broke through the ether of my unconscious state slowly, but gradually I became aware of my surroundings once more, and regretted it instantly when a throbbing pain accompanied that awareness.

"Ugh," I groaned, moving my hand tentatively to inspect the damage done to my head when it was instantly smacked away.

"None of that, Watson! I've already taken care of it, just lie still."

Suddenly recognizing the owner of the voice that spoke, however, I shot up from my prone position, adrenaline fueling my remembered anger of previous events.

"Holmes! How could you keep something like this from me?!"

"Watson, keep your voice down! I am not supposed to be here, and if someone is alerted of my presence all this pretense will be for naught!"

"Pray, explain this pretense to me, Holmes, as this is the first time I've heard of it!" I hissed at his scolding, glaring at him best I could with still clearing vision and the only light source being from a lantern turned as low as possible.

"I could say the same to you, my dear Watson! Do you have any idea what danger you have put us in?"

"_I_ put us in danger?" I scoffed in disbelief; "I was trying to help a friend and nothing more whereas you purposefully put yourself in harm's way! So I ask again why didn't you at the very least warn me of your plans, Holmes?"

"Because of the danger of this very situation happening! I knew you would want to help despite any logical arguments I would make to the contrary so felt it better to leave you out of it altogether. It appears, however, that I was not the only one of us keeping secrets," Holmes spat, looking every inch capable of brutally hurting someone in that moment as before as one of Harrison's men.

I felt my face flame in a mix of residual anger and embarrassment in that moment, but my pride would not allow me to concede defeat.

"I kept my meeting with Edgar secret because he asked me to not tell you, and so I promised not to as a gentleman. Not to mention after hearing your description of Harrison later I was afraid that if you knew of Edgar's association with the devil you would force him to be bait for one of your elaborate traps to catch the blackguard! The man has, as you have already pointed out, murdered in cold blood to stay in business, and I could not in good conscious let that happen to a friend for the sake of another!"

"So you value his friendship more than mine, do you?!"

Swearing that I could have heard jealously slip into Holmes' tone for only that instant, I quickly brushed the observation off as absurd as I tried to rise from my prostrate position on the hard dirt floor of what I could only assume to be some kind of unused cellar. Having someone of Holmes' already impressive height towering over you while engaging in an argument with him was hardly fair, so despite my dizziness I wished to level the playing field as much as possible.

This was, however, much to Holmes' dismay as I nearly lost my balance several times in trying to attain a standing position, and he was finally forced to assist me to my feet.

The humiliation this caused bruised my pride however that much more, and I pushed his hands away as soon as I could manage on my own.

"It is not because of that and you know it!" I exclaimed finally, though my winded breathing lost much of the force I tried to put behind the statement.

Swiping a hand across his face in frustrated fury, Holmes gave a low growl behind his hand before facing me once more as cool and collected as I've ever seen him.

"Be that as it may Watson, this quarrel of ours does nothing to help the problem at hand. Harrison will surely dispose of you both by the time the night is out if we do not act now. My hands are tied as one of his men and I am taking a great risk even now talking to you. However, we do have an ally at our disposal that I will call on to deliver you from this predicament later tonight. I'm afraid it must be tonight as only then when the ratting sports are at their peak that all attention will be taken from your prison. I must leave now to avoid any suspicion on my part as well."

I could only nod curtly in acquiescence to my aloof friend, trusting him with my life as I had done so many more times before despite the anger I still felt, but I could tell even then by his eyes that our little "discussion" was far from over. What came first, however, was getting out alive for such a conversation to take place, and in executing this feat my faith in Holmes was implicit.

He went for the thick wood door with lantern in hand, after this silent communication, and hearing the bolt move solidly in place to bar the door, a throat clearing that was not my own suddenly drew my attention to the other inhabitant of the room for the first time. The argument Holmes and I had been so embroiled in had apparently made us both forget the presence of Edgar.

"He's a good chap, that Mr. Holmes," Edgar swallowed nervously, unsure of his place with me and for good reason, "willing to get us out of this mess."

"Who said anything about 'us'? He only mentioned helping me escape and I have a good mind to leave you to the wolves."

"What?! John, you must believe that I had nothing to do with this! I was told to pay what I asked of you and nothing more! Please, John!"

Grabbing him from the position he'd taken on the dirt floor in disbelief and fear, I managed to pull him up by his shirt collar with my good arm and looking him square in the eye while doing so, my unresolved ire towards the whole of the situation overthrowing the remaining pain in my head as it had done with Holmes.

"Then swear Edgar, swear to me you had nothing to do with this while looking me in the eye and I will believe you. I will know if you are lying. I've learned my lesson from trusting you blindly before!"

"I swear John! I had nothing do with this!"

Only then did I release him, as he had not even blinked when he'd sworn to me his innocence despite his fear.

Edgar was telling the truth, but where did that leave us? I could only assume that it was me that Harrison had been after all along as he could have easily disposed of Edgar for not paying his debt long ago. But why me? I had been used as bait to trap Holmes on more occasions than I cared to admit, but if they knew he was on their scent, even working amongst them, why did they bother to first strike at me and not him? Was it possible that Harrison was completely oblivious of Holmes' presence in his dark den?

These thoughts and many after them filled my mind for the remainder of that day, though I am sad to admit that my efforts bore little fruit. It was like missing a crucial piece to a puzzle and any attempts to find it left me endlessly searching. Edgar, for his part, knew better than to bother me during this time as I in all likelihood bore the same expression I'd had while in intensive study at the University, and he of all people would remember not to bother me when such a look came upon my face. Upon reflection he still had the scar just to the right of his right eyebrow from when the large medical textbook that had sailed towards his face and hit its mark spot on the last time he had tried to break my concentration the night before an extremely important exam.

As there were no windows and only the one door which made our current quarters a perfect prison, I had no concept of time as I bumbled through my attempts at deduction. There was not even enough light from the slits of the door to make out the hands of my watch. It was as I finally came the conclusion that I was able to draw no conclusions about Harrison's plan behind imprisoning Edgar and I and ultimately killing us that a peculiarly familiar sound came from the door.

I could not identify it, however, until the door suddenly opened the slightest bit, blinding me with the little light that now made its way into the cellar and shadowing the figure that popped its head through.

It was the voice that accompanied the figure that made me nearly laugh out loud. Ally indeed, Holmes, I smiled.

"Oi Doctor! Mr. 'Olmes tol' me ta come an' spring ya!" Alfie whispered loudly, grinning back.

**Author's Note:** And enter Alfie! Many thanks go out to KCS for lending the little fellow to me for a while. I'll be the first to admit that I have next to no experience writing Cockney accents, however, so if anything really looks out of place please let me know! Thanks for reading and please do review!


	7. An Escape and Attempt

_An Escape and Attempt_

I didn't not question out of habit how Alfie had been able to sneak his way into Harrison's establishment, though I was quick to observe Edgar staring incredulously at the Baker Street Irregular.

"Well, c'mon then! Or d'yews gents wanna stay 'ere all night?" Alfie quipped, a grin still on his face no doubt because of Edgar's expression.

"John, wha-" he finally found his voice to ask but I was fast to interrupt. Time was, after all, of the essence.

"Later, Edgar. Do as the young chap says or it will be all of our heads!" I whispered, moving as rapidly as possible towards Alfie and freedom.

Edgar thankfully needed no more motivation than this as he was swift in following my lead. Alfie, having kept watch from the door, motioned us both to a halt at the threshold of our prison, his wide green eyes taking everything in beyond us; which would have been a normal occurrence if he were but several feet taller with grey eyes. Nevertheless it was an eerie sensation on my part to witness so familiar an expression on so different a face.

I'd never quite understood why Holmes had shown a particular favouritism regarding Alfie in the past until that moment, outside of the boy's eagerness to learn and his determination to be a help to Holmes' cases when called upon. Alfie had a good head on his shoulders, and an already apt awareness of his surroundings, the boy could go far in life if given the opportunity and Holmes had seen that. Like in so many other matters, however, I had come up short in realising this whereas Holmes seemed to have known all along.

This epiphany struck me in not even a fourth of the time it has taken me to make record of it, however, and it was with a newfound confidence in successfully escaping death's jaws once again that I looked to Alfie's lead.

"Ah roight, let's go," the boy finally spoke, "Mr. 'Olmes managed ta distract'um so'as I could get in, but Oi's just bein' sure."

Nodding in acknowledgement and a small smile of gratitude, Alfie smiled back before slipping out the door with a hand waving to us to follow.

Moving as quietly as possible to do so, however, I realized that even had we made enough noise to be the equivalent to a herd of charging elephants, the likelihood of being heard was minuscule if the racket being made above us was any indication.

Alfie nodded as he noticed my gaze turning upward.

"Big rattin' bets goin' tonight, may'it all tha easier ta sneak in. C'mon, this way."

Making our way up a flight of extremely rickety stairs, we managed to lose any possibility of being noticed by mixing amongst the swarming, shouting crowds whose attentions were all either focused in the ring in the center of the cavernous room where Edgar and I had been accosted or placing their bets.

Finally pushing through the throng without pursuers, however, Alfie lead us to what should have been the front room of the building had it not been boarded up and seemingly devoid of all use.

Tiptoeing our way through years of dust and debris, Alfie moved to one of the boarded windows, easily uprooting one side of what looked to be a solidly nailed board from its place and revealing a hole large enough to fit a man through. Swinging the board away so that it hung from its other nails and away from the hole he faced us both with a grin and gave an exaggerated bow of accomplishment.

"Edgar, you go first," I motioned with a whisper, my still silent friend only nodding eagerly and moving to make his way through the hollow and to freedom.

"Yew next, Doctor," Alfie said, trying to nudge me towards the cavity through which Edgar had already vanished, "Oi gotta put the board back on me way out so'as ta leave no trail."

"Alright," I agreed, but just as I was halfway through the opening I heard noises from behind that turned my blood cold. The sound of several pairs of footsteps, Alfie's enraged scream, and the click of a gun being cocked as it pressed hard against my back in warning.

"Nice'in easy there Doc," a bellow of a voice sounded behind the gun, "You move an inch more through that hole an' my mates'll paint the walls with the boy's brains."

**Author's Note:** You really didn't think it'd be that easy would it? –insert evil smile-

Also a note to **KCS** – I really hope I did Alfie justice in this chapter especially. He's such a great little guy that I would hate to interpret his character other than how you wanted him to be!

Thanks too to all you wonderful reviewers! You guys are what keep me writing!


	8. A Sentence

_A Sentence_

I was in, I acknowledged, not the worst of straights since my affiliation with Holmes had begun or before for that matter. Nevertheless, as I was lead hands bound and mouth gagged back into my prison by my captors I knew I had to think quickly for the sake of both my and Alfie's lives.

Edgar had gotten out, and if the man were any friend of mine he would be sprinting for the nearest Yarder to get help. However, time was of the essence and I could not say just what was to happen to either Alfie or myself considering our escape attempt. Harrison very well could consider holding us any further to be a hassle and do away with us, in which case no amount of help would be of any help should it not arrive immediately.

This all at the forefront of my mind, I tried my best to send encouraging glances to a outraged but trembling Alfie as we were lead into the main backroom which now stood vacant. Apparently out of their own accord or by force Harrison's "guests" had vanished shortly after our recapture. All that remained was a makeshift pen in the center of the room, bloodstains splattered across the wooden wallboards and rat carcasses still littering the ground the pen enclosed.

Standing in front of this less than appealing sight was Harrison himself, the man for the first time since I'd met him appearing visibly angry. Just how angry I quickly found out when his fist connected with my midriff.

The wind completely knocked out of me, I wheezed in surprise, falling to the floor as the pain of the blow as well as the need to breathe registered in my brain several long moments later. Not even Alfie's furious muffled cries managed to reach my ears during that time, though I was quick to notice the new bruise upon his cheek where one of his own captors had cuffed him for his protests. My own blood boiled in outrage at the sight but I could do nothing as I was raised roughly again to my feet to face Harrison once more. It was then that I first noticed, due in no short part to the force of the blow, just how big a man Harrison was himself; I felt as if his fist has left a crater in my stomach.

The pockmarked face of the man glaring murderously at me as I finally caught my breath, I steeled myself for another blow, but none came.

Instead, Harrison only continued to sneer at my helpless form before moving away to readjust his immaculate clothes that had been disturbed when delivering his punch.

Smoothing his still perfectly arranged hair with a hand, a nervous tick no doubt, he looked to me once more.

"Now Doctor, I was hoping that it would not come to this, however, your attempts at escape truly leave me no choice. As we speak my men are in the pursuit of your dear friend Mr. Myers, and I daresay his fate will not be dissimilar to yours for your impudence."

Turning to what I thought to be only a dark corner of the room, Harrison then called out.

"Oh, Mr. Brett! Please do come here!"

None other than Holmes slowly emerged from the shadows, and despite his apathetic demeanor and scowl there was an anxiety in those grey eyes of his that made the bottom drop out of my stomach. Whatever happened next, it could not possibly be good…

"Mr. Johnson, do hand Mr. Brett that gun. There you are, Mr. Brett. Now, I want you to shoot both of these fellows."

…and I was right.

**Author's Note: **-evil smile- I know, I'm an awful person, but do feel free to review and tell me anyway! P.S. A cookie to those of you who know just how I came up with Holmes' cover name. Shameless I know, but I saw the opportunity and just had to go for it. As always, thank you for reading!


	9. A Laugh

_A Laugh_

A barely visible tremor ran through Holmes' hand as he took the gun, accompanying the shudder that ran down my spine as Harrison's words sunk in.

And where the devil was Edgar?! Surely he should have alerted the Yard to our predicament by now? Or at the very least have found an officer who could have?

Perhaps it should have been strange for me to wonder about a friend who had yet to fully win my trust again in the face of my demise by my best of friends, but something in me could not let go of the idea that Edgar was truly willing to change his ways.

The irony of the situation I found myself in too, did not escape me. Change a few names, omit some details such as Holmes' involvement, and go back several decades into my life and the scene would not have been much different.

But especially in omitting Holmes' involvement, I grimaced, watching as my friend still stood indecisively for longer than was wise, the gun still in his hand. His eyes, which could usually tell me all that was on his mind, were unusually hazy, like he was purposefully guarding the decisions that would with any luck let us all escape with our lives. This cloudiness combined with his indecision shook my adrenaline rattled nerves all the more.

My anxiety was well-founded as not a moment later Holmes turned the gun on Harrison himself, firing a point blank shot and then launching himself at my captors and Alfie's, effectively taking them all down in their surprise. Moving just as quickly I felt the ties that bound my hands give way and the gag removed from my mouth as I was pushed in the direction of the back door.

"Run, Watson!" Holmes bellowed into my ear, grabbing Alfie about the waist to hoist the lad up over his shoulder as he sprinted towards the door.

Needing no more persuasion on my part, I hurried after Holmes as fast as my legs could carry me.

His hands quickly uprooting the heavy latch that barred the door, Alfie and all, freedom seemed within our reach until a shot rang out from behind and Holmes fell to the floor with a shout, instinctively releasing the boy just before he hit the ground.

"Holmes!" I heard myself cry along with Alfie, moving fast to his side and instinctively searched for wounds.

"Alright, Watson, just my leg," I heard Holmes hiss through clenched teeth, my own eyes and fingers confirming his diagnosis, but nevertheless the blood that had drained from my face refused to return. Shaking hands immediately ripping off my cravat I tied a rough but tight tourniquet around his leg, mumbling apologies as he gasped from the pain my actions caused. The shot had been a clean through and through, but the amount of blood he had already lost worried me, his face looked paler than usual and not just from the shock.

As always my face and its expressions were like an open to book to my friend, and obviously he saw the dread on my features at that time. But before he could try and reassure me I was ripped fiercely from his side by two too familiar pairs of large hands.

Holmes was also pulled up and I shouted in rage as the gun that had shot him was pressed into the wound itself by none other than Harrison. My jaw slackened in shock at the sight of the man; Holmes was an incredible shot and Harrison had been hit at extremely close range, how the devil had the man managed to survive, let alone shoot a gun? My answer came when I noted the dark red stain that now graced once impeccably clean jacket. He was wounded, seriously so, but even the threat of losing his life had not been enough to keep him from pursuit. This much was made chillingly clear as Holmes' face blanched in pain, and Harrison smiled back with sadistic delight.

"Now, Mr. Holmes, where would you like it? The head, the stomach, or the chest as you so wonderfully already bestowed on me?" The man grinned as he moved the gun to each vital spot in demonstration. The polite and polished demeanor he had oozed before gone, malice and contempt in their places, his ruined face made that much more horrid by the exchange.

Holmes, however, remained calm in the face of such evil; yet again displaying that iron self-control of which I have always envied him.

"Do not to be so dim-witted as to assume that you have gotten the better of me, Mr. Harrison. Even if you manage to put me in my grave, which so many more worthy before you have tried and still failed, do not think yourself to have escaped from my grasp."

His words, while so quiet, sliced through the air like sharpened steel and made even the evil joy in Harrison's eyes waver for a moment, but apparently not enough as the man began to laugh.

Dear God, what a laugh. A hyena's sounded saner.

"Oh but Mr. Holmes, whatever made you think that I was referring to you?"

Somehow I knew in that same instant we both realized just whom Mr. Harrison had been referring to, but it was an instant too late as the mad man whirled in my direction and pulled the trigger.

**Author's Note:** Yes, long time, no update. But surely this chapter makes up for it, yes? No? Let me know!


	10. A Rescue

_A Rescue_

On the path my life has taken there have been numerous near-death experiences that I have managed to live through. This particular occasion, however, was accompanied with the chilling realization that this time really was the end as I swore I could see the bullet leave the barrel of Harrison's gun.

My brain recognizing how fast the shot had to have been fired in reality, I knew better than believe my eyes, no doubt the round and already hit its mark and I was only hallucinating in my last moments.

But then I noticed, no pain. There should be at least some even with shock, I would know having been the recipient of a bullet's handiwork before. So why no pain?

My answer came from above, though not from any celestial plain.

"Sorry…I was, late," Edgar smiled down at me as nervously as ever, the blood that left his lips with the words snapping my confused mind back to attention fast in fear.

"Edgar!"

As quickly as I dared I pushed my injured friend off of me, ignoring the chaos that had obviously been ensuing as what appeared to be every single man the Yard employed scurried with purpose around us.

With hands that were more practiced than I cared for I soon found myself blessing that morbid expertise regarding various weapon-inflicted wounds as I located the entry wound of the bullet meant for me.

It had hit him solidly in the shoulder; lodging itself somewhere far from the direction it had entered due to the angle and force with which he had tackled me. There was no way to tell without allowing more blood to escape just where the bullet had gone and the possibilities were numerous as to what damage it may have or still was causing.

All this and more raced through my mind as I pressed my hand hard against Edgar's shoulder to stem the bleeding, trying my best to be reassuring as I watched the shock of his injury slowly become replaced by the pain the pressure of my hand had caused.

"Stay awake Edgar!" I suddenly broke from my softer tones, my own blood leaving my face as his eyes started to close. He started at my voice and his eyes sought mine, seeing some vague awareness in them through the pain I sighed with temporary relief as he started to fight admirably to stay awake.

All of this occurred to me at the same pace that is has taken me to write it, but all around the melee had yet to cease and at that moment those involved came to break me from my trance.

A hand quickly moved over mine to replace it with a thick cloth and its own pressure, something I quickly gave protest to as well as being physically lifted to my feet and away from my patient and friend.

"Release me this instant!" I cried, struggling fruitlessly against my new captors, however well meaning they thought themselves to be. That is, however, until a familiar voice rose above mine and effectively halted my struggle.

"Watson, for the love of heaven calm down! Mr. Myers will be in good hands until yours stop shaking!"

The hands that had held me at bay suddenly vanished, and through startlingly blurry vision I tried to meet the steel grey gaze of Holmes.

"Holmes," I started, my mind, still caught up in the role of medic, wanting to ask how his leg had fared in the din of our rescue, but I never finished my sentence.

The last twenty-four hours had finally taken their toll, and as my knees buckled I was not able to brace myself in time, my head as a result hitting the wood floor hard. Hearing Holmes' own cry of alarm, my final thought before losing consciousness was that being injured as he was Holmes should not be walking, much less trying to hoist me up from the floor.

**Author's Note:** Well, Watson didn't get shot so that's something right? No? Edgar redeem himself a little in anybody's eyes? Let me know!


End file.
